


The End of an Era

by adjovi



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 18:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18580588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: Rhiannon's neighbor Sue learns some interesting gossip during her anniversary dinner at a new French restaurant in town





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a three parter of the final exploration of Jack and Ianto's relationship.

Sue Baker, neé Mann, twirled in the full length mirror in her bedroom, pleased with the view. She had justified the impulse purchase to herself, seeing as she found it on extreme markdown at Debenhams. Although the print had looked a little busy on the sale’s rack, once she tried it on, she found that the cut accentuated her assets and downplayed her flaws in exactly the way she had hoped. Perfect for dinner at Garcon!, a fancy new French restaurant that had just opened on Cardiff Bay. She knew, (all too well), that the place was out of their price range, but Howie had finally convinced her that 10th anniversaries only came around just the once.

“You ready?” Howie poked his head into the bedroom, whistling low when he saw her. “Aren’t you posh?” He was dressed in his best suit, gray slate jacket and dark navy pants, paired with the tie the boys had gotten him for Father’s Day last. She spun once for his benefit, and giggled, delighted with his reaction. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but then glanced at his watch and frowned. “We’d better head out. Don’t know what parking will be like.”

She leaned over, grabbing up her good earrings, and put them on by feel. “Go on, then. I’ll be right down. Tell Jo the boys need to be in bed no later than 9!” She spritzed Shalimar and walked through the mist, closing her eyes. She took one last look in the mirror, lightly running a finger over her lips to even her gloss, smiling at her reflection and shrugging. As good as it gets. 

She skipped down the stairs, briefly glowering at the scene in front of her. “Jacob, let Gavin have the controls, or you won’t get another go.” At his defiant scowl, she tilted her head, letting him know she meant business, and he shoved the Wii controller in his brother’s direction, clearly displeased. “Thirty more minutes, and then the telly gets shut off.” She ignored their moans of discontent, and nodded towards Jo. “Don’t listen to them, no matter what they say. Off it goes.” She glanced at Howie, who nodded at her and opened the door in a shall we? gesture, and she followed him out, calling over her shoulder. “No bad reports!”

The drive down to the Bay took all of thirty minutes. Howie was telling her a tale of Aled from work who was caught en flagrante with the office secretary by his wife, coming home early from the shops. She’d feel bad for the wife, but Wendy always was such a cow. She smiled and ran her thumb over her diamond, remembering that once Wendy had called her engagement ring a “darling little thing”. Slag. She turned towards her husband, taking his right hand from the steering wheel, and lacing her fingers with his. “You ever think we’d make it this far?”

He grinned at her. “Nope.” Neither did she, if she were being truly honest with herself.

“Eloping? You’re only 19 years old!” Her mam’s words still rang in her ears, even after all this time. They’d grown up on the same estate together, been dating since they were 14. Typical recipe for disaster. But, to everyone’s surprise, (even their own), whilst other couples around them seemed to dissolve, they were still going strong. Sure, it hadn’t been easy, and money was always a struggle, but against all odds, they’d made it thus far.

Howie pulled into a car park that was not too far a walk to the restaurant. When they got out of the car, the breeze from the Bay seemed to wrap a chill around her, so she pulled her shawl around her shoulders, letting the rich black silk run between her fingers. She remembered the day Howie had bought it for her in Camden Market on the last real holiday they’d had: a long weekend in London. Over eight years ago. Well before the kids. Howie held out his elbow like a gentleman, and she giggled at the silliness of it all, taking his arm. The lights over the Bay sparkled in just the perfect romantic way, and she leant into him, taking comfort in his solid bulk beside her. She gasped when they came upon the restaurant, at the way the lights glittered over the water, at the uniformed man waiting to open the door. When she walked in, she was stunned into silence by the casual opulence and rich tones that surrounded her. Howie gave their name to the maître de, and they were led towards a small table near the center of the dining room. She knew she was gawking but couldn’t help herself, craning her neck to get a better view of the chandelier and gorgeously high ceiling. She glanced around the room, pulling her shawl tightly around her, suddenly very aware of her £24 dress, but just then Howie leaned in and whispered in her ear: “Our quid spends here just as good as the next bloke’s”, and she fell a bit more in love with him, relaxing for the first time and finally enjoying herself.

Their waiter was called Jean Marc, and he rattled off the day’s specials: canard of this, and reduction of that, and fois gras, which her sister, Nerys, had told her was just a fancy word for liver, so most definitely not, and Howie ordered them two glasses of the house white to start. She glanced around the room, skipping her gaze over the faces of Cardiff’s beautiful and powerful, finally landing on the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in real life. He looked like a film star, all chiseled jaw and eyes of the brightest blue. He was dressed for the part, as well, looking like he stepped from the set of a World War II picture, with his braces and shirt that accentuated his eyes. She saw the way he leaned into his companion, sat very close, a young man dressed in a suit that most likely cost more than a month of Howie’s wages. Of course. Always the good ones. When she finally caught a sight of his companion’s face, however, she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips.

“What is it?” She felt Howie following her gaze, gasping himself as he caught sight of the man’s escort. She saw the confusion and shock on his face as he looked back and forth several times between the two men. “Shit! Isn’t that…Ianto Jones?”

She nodded. “I…I think so.” She watched as the other man leaned in, unashamedly placing his hand on Ianto’s thigh and whispering something that made Ianto blush to the tips of his earlobes. Just then, Ianto’s waiter appeared with a carafe, pouring a bit of wine into the beautiful man’s glass, waiting for his approval. The man smiled, showing his dimples, and the waiter filled both of their glasses. The other man clinked his glass against Ianto’s before taking a sip. She felt a brief pang of grief for his poor father, God rest his soul, who was most likely rolling over in his grave. 

“I didn’t know he was a poofter!” She winced a little at Howie’s stage whisper, which drew a glare from a nearby table.

She tried pitching her voice low in response. “Nor me!” She pretended to scan her menu, but surreptitiously continued to watch the pair, staring as Ianto straightened primly and adjusted his napkin, saying something which made his escort throw his head back and laugh with abandon. God. If Nerys could see this now! Sue had never seen the attraction, but her sister had carried a torch for him since way back in sixth form. She always thought Ianto Jones was a weedy, sullen sort, who always seemed a bit too proud, like he was better than the estate they had all grown up on. She had to admit he’d grown into quite the handsome man, but it was not like Nerys, or any other girl for that matter, were getting feet round his table now, no way. She’d seen him Christmas last, when they’d gone to Rhi and Johnny’s party. He seemed like he couldn’t wait to get away fast enough, and Rhi had joked that the reason his visits had been so sparse was that he was secret agent of some sort. Now, the reason he’d been so eager to leave seemed all too clear.

“You’re staring!” Howie hissed at her.

“I can’t help it, can I?” Chagrined, she returned to scanning the menu, but the words just seemed to swim in and out of focus and were all in French anyways. She turned towards Howie in a vain attempt to keep her eyes away from Ianto’s table. “What are you having?”

“Um…” he ran his finger over the menu, clearly as lost as she. “This one.” Steak au Poivre. She’d seen that one on Master Chefs, but she had gone off red meat after seeing that exposé on slaughterhouses in the U.K . “How ‘bout you?”

“Oh…uh…dunno, really.” Just then, Jean Marc returned, and she had to make a snap decision. Coq au vin. She’d actually tried making that one before, and, even if the kids had refused to even try it, she thought it had turned out quite nice. Once the menus were taken away, she lost her shield that had covered her gaping, and she watched again as the other man ate brazenly from off of Ianto’s plate. Howie pinched her leg under the table, and she threw him a defiant look, but just then the bread and salads arrived and they were occupied by something other than catching Ianto Jones on a date with a man.

The food was gorgeous and required their full attention, and Howie kept her entertained by attempting to speak to her in an absolutely awful French accent that made him sound a bit like Pepe Le Pew, effectively distracting her until the bill had been paid. It really was just a bad bit of unfortunate timing that had them all rising from their tables at the same exact moment. Howie helped her into her shawl, turning her in such a way that she couldn’t help but watch Ianto help the other man into his greatcoat before sliding into his own trench coat.

All things considered, the moment couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but the sheer awfulness of his expression, trapped in that singular moment which lingered just a little too long for him to pretend he did not know he was caught, seemed to possess an eternity. She watched as the swirl of emotions flickered across his face, running the whole gamut of shock, shame, anger, indignation, before quickly settling into a neutral mask. He gave her a tight smile and nod of head before his companion reached back and pulled him by the elbow, hand travelling down his arm until fingers entwined. The movement threw him a bit off-balance, and he stumbled, eyes shifting towards her once more as he allowed himself to be led to the door.

God. She couldn’t wait to phone Nerys!


	2. Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's POV.

Ianto stood, stretching his arms over his head and closing his eyes when the bones of his spine popped pleasingly. He rubbed a hand over the back of his head, sighing in resignation as he surveyed the over-flowing piles of folders that represented the fruits of his afternoon labors. So far, he’d been able to organize past reports that had made any mention of something shiny, silver and box-like, by vague geographical locations throughout the U.K. Apparently, a lot of shiny silver boxes had made their way into Torchwood over the years, if the sheer volume of reports was anything to go by. He absently turned up the volume of his Ipod as he tried to kick a few of the piles into shape. And, he absolutely, positively, did not jump when he felt Jack’s hands wrap around his waist from behind. He pulled his ear buds out and turned around, trying to drum up the best scowl he could muster. “Fuck, Jack. Give me a heart attack!”

Jack just leered at him, hitching his hip up onto the old desk that sat against the wall. “What’cha doin?” He made a show of peering around Ianto at the piles of paper littering the floor, a slightly amused glint to his eye.

“Saving the world. You know. The usual.” He kicked at one of the piles of folders, toppling it, and papers spewed everywhere. There went Scotland. He sighed loudly in disgust. 

Jack raised an eyebrow at the insubordination, but Ianto knew he didn’t really mean it. “Taking it out on those poor papers? What’d they ever do to you?”

Ianto just rolled his eyes. “I take it your call with Whitehall is over? Did you make nice with the other kiddies in the sandbox?”

Now it was Jack’s turn to roll his eyes. “I always make nice.” His attempt at leering was almost comically overdone.

Ianto chuckled and shook his head. “Has senility caused you to forget that I spent the better part of Monday attempting to smooth over the last time you decided to kick some sand about?” Ianto crossed over, shooing Jack to slide a bit so he could lean on the desk beside him. “Sorry. I really should be more sensitive. Sometimes I forget that you are a very old man.”

Jack elbowed his side in protest. “See, now you have to go and ruin the moment. I came down here to ask you out on a date.” Ianto eyes flicked to Jack’s face for a second, making sure no real hurt was there, before turning away again, hiding his grin. “I even made reservations at Garcon.” Jack sounded inordinately proud of this fact.

Ianto was continuously surprised by Jack’s enthusiasm towards the mundane, considering Jack had probably been around the block more times than he could count at this point. He wondered, not for the first time, if Jack had a manual entitled “Dating Rituals of 21st Century Earth” stowed someplace around the Hub. Jack, the one that came back, seemed to enthusiastically embrace the whole courting process, much to Ianto’s shock. More often than not, Jack’s gusto for tradition shoved him well out of his zone of comfort. The first time Jack had shown up at his doorstep with flowers, well, he spent no time quickly dispelling him of that notion. Ianto had found that navigating the world of dating was tough enough, but now with the added element of not only dating a bloke, but dating Jack, he regularly felt lost, like he was bobbing out on the open sea, not sure where to anchor. But, and he wouldn’t admit this even under pain of death, there was a tiny part of him that liked that Jack had somehow come to the conclusion that a fancy French restaurant was an acceptable romantic overture, even if painfully obvious and utterly clichéd. Ianto smirked at him. “Gwen giving us the night off?”

Something akin to pain flickered through Jack’s eyes, gone quick as a flash and replaced by a broad smile, but Ianto’s gut still twisted a bit at the reminder of the ghosts surrounding them. Jack shifted to turn towards him, putting his hands on his hips and tossing his head. “Get out, you! You are driving me mad with the hovering. You’re worse than Rhys!” Ianto snorted at Jack’s absolutely horrendous Gwen impersonation. “And, take Ianto someplace nice for a change!” Which, wasn’t totally fair, as Ianto’s ideal date consisted of pizza, beer and dvds at his flat, whereas Jack seemed to prefer real, actual planned events that at times required multiple wardrobe changes. 

Ianto slid to standing. “What time’s the reservation?”

“Eight.” Jack stood as well.

Ianto frowned as he looked at his watch—it was already half six. “I’d better be off, if I’m meant to be ready by then.”

Jack looked him up and down. “What’s wrong with what you are wearing?” Ianto gave him a look, and Jack just chuckled and shook his head. “Girl.”

“Wanker.” Ianto sighed again as he regarded the piles on the floor.

Jack laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”

Ianto started to move away from him towards the door. “Thanks for that.”

“Hey, don’t say I never do anything nice for you.” Jack followed him out, pulling the single chain hanging from the ceiling to extinguish the bare light bulb. Ianto just hummed in agreement and began up the staircase, Jack jogging up behind him. “Go home. Make yourself pretty.”

Ianto looked back over his shoulder. “I thought I was always pretty.”

“Oh, you are.” The sarcasm in Jack’s voice earned him another eye roll.

Gwen was sitting at what Ianto still regarded as Tosh’s workstation, quickly minimizing a website that appeared to be selling shoes. She grinned at him. “You off then?”

“He’s got to go make himself pretty.” Jack had stopped on the railing above her, one foot propped on the bars.

Gwen reached out and smoothed down his tie. “You’re always pretty.”

Ianto cocked an eyebrow in Jack’s direction, but Jack just laughed and walked into his office, calling out over his shoulder. “I’ll pick you up in an hour!”

“Yup.” Ianto lowered his voice to address Gwen. “Hey, thanks for this.”

She cuffed him lightly on the arm. “Off with you. Don’t want to keep himself waiting.” She twisted back towards her monitor, giving him a knowing smile as he walked away. “Have fun tonight.”

Ianto just shook his head and chuckled under his breath as he walked out the cog door.

***

The restaurant was elegant in a minimalist kind of way, tasteful and understated, just as it had been described in the Echo review that Ianto had read the week previously. They were seated at a nice table with a view of the Bay, the lighting low and intimate. Their waiter approached and introduced himself as François, quickly rattling off the specials of the day. Ianto goggled a bit at the £149 price tag of the bottle of wine that Jack ordered for them. As someone who had penny pinched out of necessity for the majority of his life, it had taken him a little while to get used to the constant five-star treatment, but he had been going on with Jack for long enough that he was beginning to relax enough to enjoy it.

“What sounds good to you?” Jack was scanning the menu with his finger, most likely looking for a steak dish.

“I’m thinking the pumpkin ravioli.” Not his usual fare, but the Echo reviewer had deemed it “simply divine”, so Ianto was willing to take a risk.

Jack raised his eyebrows a bit at the choice, but didn’t lift his head from his menu, still scanning, finally pointing at his selection. “I’m getting this one.” Ianto roughly translated the selection as steak with a mustard-cognac sauce. Very Jack. 

Choices made, they closed their menus and settled back into their chairs. Jack stretched a warm hand across Ianto’s thigh, and Ianto tried very hard not to react at all, apparently failing miserably. Jack leaned in close, whispering low into his ear “Easy there, tiger.” Ianto felt a blush creep up his face all the way to the tips of his earlobes, but he willed himself to calm down, just a bit. The wine arrived with the usual spectacle, and Jack swirled the liquid around in his glass, allowing it to breathe, before nodding in affirmation. They clinked their glasses together before taking a sip, discovering it really was a nice wine. Orders placed, they were left with just each other. Ianto took a healthy gulp of the wine when Jack rubbed his thumb in a slow circle over Ianto’s thigh. “So, what the hell were you doing down there in the archives?”

Ianto exhaled audibly. “Well, as I recall, someone ordered me to try and find a pattern of little shiny silver boxes falling through the Rift since he didn’t trust whatever algorithm Mainframe spat out.” He cut his eyes towards Jack. “She know you’re two-timing her?”

Jack gave his thigh a little squeeze and shrugged. “Her answer didn’t make any sense. Besides, it’s always better to double check.” 

Ianto cocked an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said they were harmless children’s toys.”

Jack frowned at him, pulling his hand off of Ianto’s thigh to waggle a finger in warning. “You never know.” Just then, the bread arrived, thankfully forestalling any further shop talk, and a respectable amount of time later, the food came. Jack sighed in satisfaction when he cut into his meat, appropriately bloody. He pointed towards Ianto’s dish with his knife. “Any good?”

“It’s quite gorgeous, actually.” Ianto’s pasta was delicious as promised, the sauce not too heavy, the ravioli perfectly cooked.

Jack leered at him knowingly. “Better than sex?”

Ianto leaned closer to him, pitching his voice dramatically lower. “Not with you, you big studly man.”

Jack threw his head back, laughing without abandon. His laugh was infectious, and Ianto couldn’t help but grin in response. He leaned in to whisper in Ianto’s ear again. “I didn’t hear any complaints as I blew you over the conference table today when Gwen went to meet Rhys for lunch.” Ianto felt the blush creeping back up to his hairline. Jack shifted a bit in his seat, pitching his voice higher but still keeping it at a whisper. “Oh Jack, yes Jack, just like that, Jack.”

Ianto quickly recovered , retreating back to sarcasm. “It’s almost eerie how much Gwen and I sound alike in real life.”

Jack just grunted in response, spearing a ravioli without asking. He inclined his head towards Ianto’s plate, speaking around a mouthful of pasta. “It’s good, but I’m a little surprised. Not what you’d usually go with.”

Ianto raised his eyebrows and refolded his napkin in his lap. “I read a review of this place last week, and the ravioli came highly recommended.”

Jack smirked at him, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Still I say: girl.”

Ianto smirked right back. “Still I say: wanker.”

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sticking with girl.”

Ianto leaned in close, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “We’ll see if you stand by that after we get back to mine.”

Jack crossed his arms across his chest. “I find it interesting that you assume that this night will end in sex.”

Ianto snorted. “Well, we’ve met. A few times now.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, regarding Ianto with suspicious eyes. “So, basically what you are saying is, you’ll whore yourself out in order to get a good meal?”

Ianto shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”

Jack sat up and pointed at Ianto in indignation. “Hey! That’s my line.”

Ianto shrugged again. “Still applies.”

They finished off their plates, Jack helping himself to some more of Ianto’s pasta and cutting him off a bit of steak to try. Jack ordered up a gooey chocolately thing they shared for dessert that was positively decadent, and Ianto left him to the bill as he went to gather their coats. Fighting over the check was a battle he had long since learned he would never win. When he returned, he helped Jack into his coat before shrugging into his own. Jack smiled at him then, the genuine, private smile that Ianto liked to believe was reserved for him alone. “Back to yours, then?”

Ianto gave a tiny smile in response and nodded. As he turned to follow Jack out, time seemed to stop and the bottom dropped out of his world as he came face to face with Sue Baker and her husband. Sue was well known as the biggest gossip on the estate his sister lived on. He stood, rooted to the spot, just staring back at her, desperately running over in his mind the events of the evening in an attempt to convince himself that she hadn’t seen anything truly damning, but he could tell by the look of shock in her eyes that she knew. He felt sick to his stomach and could hear the blood rushing in his ears, only managing after what seemed an eternity to give her a tight smile and nod in recognition. Jack unknowingly chased away any lingering doubts she may have had about the situation by reaching back and tugging on Ianto’s elbow, running his hand down Ianto’s arm to entwine their fingers and pulling him towards the exit. Ianto stumbled a little, thrown as he was, before gaining his footing and following Jack out the door. He did his best to hide the roiling of his stomach, as it would only get worse if Jack noticed and forced him to talk about it. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Time Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto POV/

Jack stumbled a little, surprised to meet resistance at the end of his arm. He turned, ready to make a quip about how Ianto was dragging his feet now that they got to the best part of the evening, but he frowned once he took in the haunted expression on the other man’s face. He shook their joined hands to get Ianto’s attention. “Hey. You ok?”

This seemed to break Ianto out of his fog, and he gave Jack a small smile, one that didn’t meet his eyes. Jack felt something twist in his gut when Ianto took a long moment to answer. “Yup.” He readjusted his grip and fell into step beside Jack. “You?”

Jack grunted in frustration and rubbed his free hand across his face. “No. I mean…” He gestured back towards the restaurant. “What happened back there?”

Ianto got a look Jack categorized as panic face, but then quickly smoothed out his features. After a beat, he chuckled nervously. “Nothing.” When Jack raised a disbelieving eyebrow, Ianto swiftly rushed to reassure him. “No, really.” He gave him a small smile. “The restaurant was lovely. Thank you.”

“The restaurant was lovely? Now I know something’s wrong.” Jack wasn’t sure the issue was worth pushing, but he was confused and more than a little hurt that Ianto was obviously lying to him.

Ianto sighed audibly and dropped his head, and Jack knew he was preparing a suitable response. Thoughtful, this one. Jack mused that sometimes this tended to get Ianto in trouble. Ianto looked back up at Jack. “We had a nice evening, yeah?”

Jack took a deep breath, deciding to let the issue drop, for the moment at least. “Yeah.” He let Ianto’s hand go, but gave him the patented grin, and shoved his hands into his pockets against the chill. He noticed Ianto immediately seemed to fold into himself, and knew that was only partially due to the cold. He wished for the millionth time that he wasn’t stuck in this backwater time on this backwater planet and he could just offer his coat to the other man.

Ianto stuffed both of his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, walking backwards for a moment so he could face Jack. “You wanna watch a film? I brought back a couple from the tourist office.” Ianto was in the habit of keeping a few DVDs on hand in the case that he had an afternoon free to man the fake tourist office. Jack knew that Ianto cherished these small moments he had to himself. He also knew that Ianto had probably had these particular DVDs for at least the past couple of months. Should really work on hiring new staff members.

Jack angled his head to the side. “Weeell, Mr. Jones. Are you asking me up for a nightcap?”

Ianto just rolled his eyes and turned back around. “Jack, pretense at this point is quite unbecoming.”

Jack smiled, showing his dimples. “Oh come on. Even from me?”

Ianto shot Jack an incredulous glare, but Jack caught the playful gleam in his eyes. “Especially from you.” 

They walked the rest of the way back to Ianto’s building wordlessly, the silence almost becoming a tangible presence between them. Ianto let them into his small flat, toeing out of his shoes and shucking his coat by the door, and Jack followed his lead. Ianto gave Jack a bit of a crooked grin, jerking his chin in the direction of his ancient fridge. “Why don’t you grab a lager. I’m going to change out of this.” He tugged his tie loose as he walked towards the bedroom.

Jack resisted the urge to follow and help Ianto out of his clothes, as he normally would have done, because he sensed the other man needed some space just then. He made his way over to Ianto’s galley kitchen, pulling open the fridge and involuntarily wrinkling his nose in disgust. Ianto’s absence from his flat in the last couple of weeks was evident by some takeaway that may or may not have become a sentient being and milk that had long since turned. Jack grabbed a lager and slammed the door shut against the offensive odors. 

He settled back against the counter, studying the front of the fridge thoughtfully while taking a sip of his lager. Ianto’s niece and nephew, smiling in their bright blue school uniforms. The whole Davies family in ugly matching red jumpers in front of a Christmas tree. A handmade birthday card with a red construction paper heart surrounded by lace. Several takeaway menus. And, peeking out of a calendar, a photo that had been shoved hastily between the pages. Jack snagged it out and felt his chest tighten when he saw the image that had been captured there. Gwen’s wedding day, the happy couple surrounded on all sides by Torchwood. He remembered that moment with perfect clarity. How Rhys’s dad had fumbled a bit with the camera. How Ianto had tensed against his side when Jack snaked his arm around his waist. He ran a finger over Tosh and Owen’s smiling faces. That day had brought up a lot of emotions for Jack, including memories of his own wedding and coming to terms with losing Gwen to Rhys. For reasons he didn’t completely understand, he needed Gwen. But, he needed Ianto, too. For reasons he was begin to understand with frightening lucidity. He slid the photo back into its hiding place just as Ianto rounded the corner, clad in a faded Uni t-shirt over even more faded jeans.

“You pick out a film?” Ianto leaned around Jack to get to the fridge, glaring at him for not moving out of the way.

“What you got?” Jack unabashedly checked out Ianto’s arse when he bent down to retrieve his shoulder bag, chuckling a bit when Ianto rolled his eyes, obviously catching him in the act. As much as he loved the suits, there was a small part of Jack that loved that he was the only one who regularly saw Ianto like this, out of the usual armor he wore to face the world. He tried not to examine those feelings too closely and took another sip of his lager.

Ianto stood, holding the two DVDs up for Jack’s examination. “’Slumdog Millionaire’ or ‘Pineapple Express’.”

Jack tilted his head to the side. “Which one has more sex?”

Ianto shook his head in amusement, and walked into the living room. “Well, one’s a Bollywood film, so probably no joy there. The other is about two stoners hanging out.”

“Do the stoners have sex?” Jack flopped down on the sofa, taking up as much space as possible.

“I didn’t realize it was my job to supply you with porn.” Ianto frowned at the DVDs before making a decision, popping one out of the case.

“What do I pay you for?” Jack craned his head around, trying to see Ianto’s choice.

Ianto fired up the player and put in the movie, calling out over his shoulder. “I thought it was the coffee and suits.”

“Oh, and don’t forget the blowjobs.” Jack grinned invitingly at Ianto when he turned around, patting the seat beside him.

“See, some would call that harassment.” Ianto walked over and sank down onto the sofa next to Jack.

“You want to file all of that paperwork, knock yourself out.” Jack exaggeratedly yawned and stretched, dropping his arm heavily onto Ianto’s shoulder and pulling the other man close enough to drop a kiss onto his temple. There was a reason some moves were classics.

Ianto murmured something incomprehensible but settled in beside Jack, adjusting a bit until they were touching from shoulder to thigh before pressing play. Bollywood it was, then. Ianto turned his head, and Jack could feel his eyes studying his face before flicking back towards the screen. He lightly patted Jack’s knee. “You’ll like it: lots of running around and dancing and singing.”

Jack huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Oh, come on. Way to pander to obvious stereotypes. You’re off your game.”

He felt Ianto freeze beside him, and after what seemed to be an eternity, he answered, his voice low and soft. “I didn’t realize it was a game.”

Shit. Shitshitshit…oh. Ianto was trying hard to refrain from smiling. The little bastard. “Nice.”

Ianto couldn’t hide his satisfied smirk. “Now who’s off his game?”

Jack feigned annoyance, attempting to hide his almost palpable relief. “That’s just playing dirty.”

Ianto twisted and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Just be still and watch the film.” He grinned at Jack once and waved a hand vaguely towards the telly. “Won all kinds of awards.”

Jack hummed noncommittally, disturbed by Ianto’s abrupt shift in mood from earlier, and he considered, for several long moments, breaking the comfortable atomsphere the banter had brought into the room . Eventually, he settled back down into the cushions, pulling Ianto back towards himself. He stared the top of Ianto’s head before finally relaxing for the first time since they left the restaurant, smiling to himself when he felt Ianto do the same. He knew they needed to talk about what had happened that night, but he wanted to make sure Ianto was in a place where he would speak honestly with him.

Before long, though, he was completely pulled into the film. The tale was a beautifully tragic love story, and thus far, the only connection to Bollywood he could figure was using India as a background. The further he was drawn into the story, the more he felt Ianto incrementally place more and more weight against his side, and knew that before long the other man would be fast asleep. This was a critical juncture, as he could just let Ianto fall asleep and risk the chance that any discussion would be lost or glossed over with false assurances that everything was OK, which they both knew was a lie. Or, he could wake him and force a discussion that frankly he wasn’t sure he was ready to have. There was always option three: wait and let Ianto tell him in his own time. He kissed the top of Ianto’s head and settled back to watch the end of the film. 

Later, as he lay tangled up with Ianto beneath the sheets, naked bodies touching at every point possible, he found himself mimicking Ianto’s slow breathing, taking solace in the steady beat of his heart. In this state of near meditation, he allowed his mind to run back to what had happened earlier, and wondered if this was the place in which they should have that conversation, but he was loathe to break the serenity so carefully constructed. And, yet, of late, so easily found. He didn’t have to make the decision right now. They had the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This was so long ago, but heartened to know that TW lives on in radio plays. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love.


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